Female Simple Spine Tattoos Novels & Stories

The icy blast would’ve made anyone else recoil, but Dante stood there, solid and unmoving, like he was made of stone. His back was a canvas of ink, just like his front. The artwork was nothing short of breathtaking. Spanning across his entire back was a massive, detailed tattoo—an angel, powerful and divine, standing within the ruins of an ancient temple. The wings spread wide across his shoulder blades, reaching toward his arms, while crumbling pillars surrounded the figure in dramatic grayscale contrast. It wasn’t just a tattoo; it was a story, a testament, a work of devotion etched forever into his flesh. It was absolutely beautiful—mesmerizing, even.

She was paying well, and it was her apartment. She smiled gratefully and stood up, letting the robe drop completely to the floor. Her body was beautiful; her hips were curvy, and her boobs bounced lightly as she moved. As she bent to grab something from the bedside, I noticed a spider web tattoo on her left butt cheek. It was sexy as fuck. She opened her drawer, grabbing a realistic dildo; it was thick, veined, and long. She settled back into the chair, spreading her legs wide. I had to work from her back so I could fix her eyeliner as steadily as I could, which also meant I got a full view. No matter how I tried, I must definitely see.

Satisfied, I grabbed the heavy white towel from the nearby rack, draped it over my arm, and leaped slowly back over to the edge of the steaming marble tub. I carefully lowered my bruised body down, sitting directly on the wide, warm marble edge right behind his massive back. Now that I was sitting so close to his bare skin, the thick steam cleared for a brief second, and I noticed something that made my eyes widen in surprise. The massive, intricate tattoo covering his spine wasn't just a random pattern; it was a highly detailed portrait of a beautiful woman. However, because of the dark bullet holes and the swirling water, I could not get a clear look at her facial features.

Right there, above her navel is the mark. I take in the black and white flowers tattooed over her right shoulder. The delicate leaves end right beneath her key bone and it seems to climb behind her shoulder too. A black lily climbs its way up the side of her left hip. The same lily in white is wrapped around yhe the black one snaking down it.

Standing in front of a full-length mirror, Destiny stared at the lines on her body. Her mother's tattoo had been more like a maze, lines ran apart from each other, but always running parallel. Hers were more floral. It looked like vines had grown all over her body. It gracefully followed the curve of her hips and breast. Likewise, it ran double helices down the sides of her legs and her spine. It flowered up at the base of her neck and was embedded with lotus blossoms. Normally, she wasn't into flowery designs, but this tattoo was fascinating, there was something powerful, mystical about it. They looked more like tribal flowers rather than Hawaiian shirt flowers. That would have been very un

It was then that I noticed the ink. A tattoo ran the length of her spine, and symbols were etched into her flesh in a neat vertical line from the nape of her neck to her tailbone. It was unexpected, a stark contrast to her otherwise innocent appearance. I leaned in, tracing a finger over the black ink. “Now, what’s this?” I mused aloud, my finger tracing the design.

I said, and he looked at me like he could see the stitches under my shirt. “Loud is okay,” he said. “Loud isn’t dying.” Every eighth night I went back to the storage unit. Maeve checked the sites with the tenderness of a mechanic who loves the sound an engine makes when it finally admits what’s wrong. She added new points—along the spine, the wrists, the Achilles. She tattooed small, precise sigils around each site with a needle that sang. The ink wasn’t black. It was the color of a bruise at the end of its story.

He had tied her hair high up on her head in order to bare her back. She knew, from the flashes of the images that she caught whenever he touched her, that the tattoo was of a griffin, with the body and tail feathers forming a line along her spine, and the wings fanning out over her shoulder blades. He spoke only minimally, when he needed her to adjust her position, or to caution her to be still. The music that played in the background did not disguise the ominous buzz of the tattoo gun as he worked.

His voice broke the silence, and I froze in my tracks. He turned his head slightly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “You can touch it. It doesn’t sting.” I hesitated, my fingers twitching at my sides. “Can I?” I asked softly. “Of course,” he replied, his tone calm and inviting. My hand moved almost on its own, reaching out to trace the lines of the tattoo. His skin was warm under my fingertips, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the artistry. But then, my eyes caught something else—a tiny inscription running down his spine vertically, just below the scorpion.

Chapter Twenty I wasn’t worried about getting pregnant, but what if he had given me an incurable disease that I was going to have to live with for the rest of my life? “What would you like for breakfast?” Spencer asked, rolling off of me before he stood up. His pale naked body gleamed in the soft morning light, highlighting the hard straight lines of the black tattoos that covered his hand from his knuckles up his arms and ending on his upper chest. He was all corded muscle and hard lines, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. How had a man like him wanted to sleep with someone like me?